So, a little little fanfic about the Blame! universe. I'm sorry for mistakes in grammar and language, i think, there are a couple of them. And i hope no phrase will be out of the context, because sometimes i had to use an online translator and i maybe picked out the wrong meaning of a word, that doesn't match in this sentence. But hopefully the context will make it clear then

. Well, enough.
May be on earth, may be in the past.
"Tell you what!" said the man at the bar.
Dust and dirt is on his clothes, his lips have many cuts. About half an hour ago the man scuffled in the bar, took a seat and a snuffled hard. The town knows him very well, his name teaches adventure and roughness. It's Killy the Kid, the tight-lipped seeker, who talks about nothing but crazy Gene-things, Killy, known for his skills in gunning blue beans.
But today, he seems to be a bit more loosen up: "Tell you what, honey!"
"You said that before. What is it all about?" Asked the cute white haired waitress.
"Whats your name, sweetheart? Hm?" - "Me?" - "Yah."
"My name is chief- waitress Cibo..."
"Sooo, listen up little Cib'. Hick. Gonna tell ya my last story. Every once in a while, there are these bunch o' greenhorns, who came into my town, just to mess around with me, you know? An' this time, it was almost noon and I ain't had no sleep for some days, so I was really pi- hick, pissed, you know. Like, then the one guy looked at me, he was so terrebly white, I thought he lived his whole life in-a dark cellar. I shout at him: 'Whats up whitey?' No reaction. Thought they wanted to play me for a sucker. 'Hey! Ya have a problem with me, greenie?'
But then I cooled down. Hick. You know, my mission is quiet more important than thoose bunch o' dumbasses, I thought. To show them, everything is okay, I made a pacific gesture, hick. I spit out some chewing tobacco right between us. 'Err... besides, have you freaks seen some Net- genes around? Hey! No?'
And then the whole thing went out of hand. You know Cib', I-, I haven't not started this, I just wanted to know if they have a clue for me. Shitty white asses, you can't trust them, I tell ya.
I'm right, hm, Cib'? Hick. You don' like thoose guys too, I can see it in yah eyes, man.
So one of them pulled out a knife and I thought, no way whitey. I... took my gun, ya know, ma little graviton-bean-revolver here and pointed it on their- hick- on their face. 'Don' moove, sucker' I said. But he didn't wanted to hear and I blast his head of. Well, through the shockwave I catched the whole group, ya know, but who cares. I simply shoot at the one guy and blow them all about 70 miles down the road into the next town and then all the way up to the happy hunting ground. Nnnhehe, y'know, hick, that was 'n easy job though, did-it with ma lef' hand only. Caused me not much trouble, phh! Hick!"
"Oh Boy!" Chief waitress Cibo stares fascinated and a little absent in Killys jar. "70 miles! That's incredible!"
Then she smiles at him: "Now I know, why Mister Dhomo called this stuff 'Limit off'", and she points to the jar, "You must be really stoned, talking so much nonsens, aren't you, Killy the Kid?"